She bought some groceries. She also bought a big bottle of gin. She didn’t really have any appetite, and two doubles on an empty stomach knocked her out. She woke up the next morning at five a.m. She made herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a plastic knife. That filled her stomach, but she doubted that she could ever fill the emptiness that engulfed her.
Emptiness periodically gave way to anger. She was sure that if Keerbrock had put his name on the paper, Nature would have published their letter. She thought of Gwynne, who had betrayed her because of petty jealousy and because he didn’t want to reopen discussion of elephant phylogeny. She couldn’t sustain the anger, though. Hayden, Sergei, Rob, Katie, even Keerbrock had all backed her in their own way, and she’d let all of them down.
She spent the first day in her room, wallowing in self-loathing and guilt. Day two, she picked up a pad and pencil, but phrases and thoughts were a jumble and seemed just out of reach anyway. She stared at the blank pad. After a moment, she drew three lines, then two more. That looked like a musical stanza. She tried to remember the first notes of Beethoven’s Variations on a Swiss Song. She couldn’t remember the notes, but she hummed the melody. The simple notes, pure as high mountain air, breached some dam inside her, and for several minutes she just sobbed.
When she stopped, the emptiness had vanished, at least for the moment. She didn’t feel good, but she felt as though life was a possibility. She looked around the room. There was a guidebook for local points of interest. Idly flipping through the pages, she came to a section describing a spot for fossil hunting. Why not, she thought.
She jotted down the directions—the site was open to the public and consisted of a bunch of boulders at the base of a cliff. She blinked as she exited the cabin, blinded by the sunlight after two days indoors. It was a brilliant day in May, and the air was sweet with pollens. She found the spot easily enough and spent the afternoon looking for trilobites and other Devonian marine fossils.
The next day she returned. The previous day, she’d had the place to herself, but today it looked like a professor had brought his class on a field trip. The kids, who looked college age, were examining and chipping some of the boulders and scree while he wandered among them. The professor looked over at Claire, and Claire instinctively turned away and moved farther from the group.
She didn’t return the next day, but that evening Claire encountered the group again at a local tavern. The professor waved to her and signaled that she should join them. Claire forced a smile and shook her head. Returning to her drink, she didn’t notice that the man continued to stare at her.
63
The man Sergei knew only as the janitor sat in a café in Astana and weighed his options. He wasn’t worried about being caught, because he no longer looked like a Kazakh. Now he looked like a forgettable midlevel accountant. He had assumed so many aliases over the years that he sometimes forgot his real name. More recently, he had opted for complete anonymity when taking on an assignment.
He knew that Bezanov would have him taken out in a heartbeat now that he had completed his assignment, but he was also comfortable that Bezanov would have no more success than dozens of other prior employers who had entertained similar thoughts … though there was just one loose end, the result of a brief chance encounter at the Transteppe train depot. He couldn’t be sure that the Russian geologist had heard anything, but he’d seen him look around. Leave a loose end unfixed, he thought, and, next thing you know, an entire sweater has unraveled.
64
Claire only stayed a week, because she had paid for a week and didn’t know where she would go next. She tried to get some exercise every day and usually ended up at the tavern. She found it soothing to watch the baseball games that were perpetually on the TV above the bar. The idle chatter of the color commentators and torpor-inducing progress of the game matched the lazy pace of summer, and then moments of extreme drama would emerge like a thunderstorm. Yankees fans predominated, but she didn’t like the barfly regulars, most of whose IQs were ten points short of a root vegetable, so she decided to become a Mets fan. Being a fan wasn’t the same as revolutionizing paradigms of the origins of intelligence, but it seemed to give meaning to life for many of the patrons, and if it was good enough for them, it ought to be good enough for Claire, she reasoned. She had nothing else.
The night before she was due to check out, Claire decided to go to the tavern one last time. She entered the bar and froze. Sitting at their customary round table were the geology students and their professor. This time, however, they were looking awestruck at the older man and the beautiful woman standing next to them. Claire wheeled to make a getaway when Katie yelled, “Claire!”
The students turned goggle-eyed to stare at her. Claire’s shoulders slumped in defeat as Keerbrock and Katie came over and guided her to the bar. She sat down, looked at them both in silence for a moment, and then said, “Do you think they should fire Mickey Callaway?”
“They should have done it years ago!” announced Keerbrock, adding, “Who is Mickey Callaway?”
The three nodded at each other. Katie ordered three drafts. Keerbrock took a sip and said, “We need to talk.” The shock had knocked all fight out of Claire. Anyway, the last thing she wanted was a scene. Claire led Keerbrock and Katie over to a far booth.
Katie had yet to say a word, but before they sat down, she smiled and gave Claire a huge hug. Claire couldn’t help herself—her eyes welled up, as did Katie’s. Keerbrock, who, apparently, had reached late middle age unaware that humans had emotions, looked extremely uncomfortable.
Claire felt miserable. “I’m not the person you thought I was.”
Keerbrock waved that remark off.
“How did you find me?”
Keerbrock shifted uncomfortably. “We”—he nodded at Katie—“set up a string on one of the paleontological sites asking for clues as to your whereabouts, making it sort of a ‘Where’s Waldo’ contest. People had you everywhere from Tibet to Timbuktu. Then, that guy”—Keerbrock nodded toward the professor—“put up a note simply saying, ‘Found her!’”
Katie interrupted. “Sergei’s been going nuts. He was vastly relieved when we told him you were alive.”
Claire felt a deep pang of guilt for the pain she had inflicted on Sergei. She hoped he would understand that, in an odd way, her lack of contact was her way of preserving the hope of saving, not ending, their relationship.
“Anyway,” Keerbrock continued, “we’re here—we tracked you down—because something has happened, a discovery of something wonderful, something that validates everything you’ve been arguing, and by rights this should be yours. We want you to come back.”
Claire was not ready for this. She had no idea what to say, so she didn’t say anything. Katie stepped in. “Remember how we left the jadeite encrusted with the surrounding rock when we brought it here?”
Claire nodded.
“Well,” Katie continued, “after you left, I didn’t have much else to work on, so I cleaned the rock.”
Claire nodded again.
“And you were right, it’s a perfect polished representation of an elephant yam.”
Now Claire spoke, confused. “But we knew that.”
“That’s right, but then I picked it up.”
Keerbrock was watching this byplay with a look of anticipation, almost excitement.
“So you picked it up,” said Claire. “It’s not that heavy.”
“But I couldn’t hold it for long,” said Katie, turning to Keerbrock. “Neither could Dr. Keerbrock.”
“You couldn’t hold it? Why not?”
“The jadeite has properties.”
“Properties,” said Keerbrock. “It looks for all the world as though these ancient elephants of yours purposefully imbued the rock with some very powerful field for what purpose we have no idea, but it does seem purposeful.”
“What happens when you pick up the rock?”
“You’re going to have to experience
this for yourself, but if you hold it with your hand underneath, you start to feel something like an electrical current that builds until you can’t stand it.”
“Why would they do this?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. If you were an elephant, your whole sensory system is built on sound, right?”
“Right.” This was familiar ground for Claire as she had done basic research on elephant use of sound.
“So,” continued Keerbrock, “as you know from your work in Florida”—Claire felt a jolt of pleasure—Keerbrock had followed her work!—“an elephant with its highly sophisticated auditory processing system might express itself through sound waves, yes?”
“Yes.”
“But sound waves are transient, yes?”
“Yes …”
“Assuming that your elephant had a big enough brain to be conscious and was smart enough to want to leave a record, how do you do that with something as transient as sound?”
Claire had no idea where he was going and decided to keep silent.
Keerbrock wasn’t waiting for an answer anyway. “You might create some sort of standing wave. Sound is waves. At some level, everything has a wave property. Think interference patterns. If you doped the appropriate medium the right way, you could create a complicated—perpetual—record with standing waves.”
“Of course!”
“I thought you’d get it,” said Keerbrock. “Think about paintings in the caves at Lascaux; think about what our Neanderthal friends might have done if they’d only had sound waves to work with.”
“Right.”
“And think about the type of skills you’ll need to get to the bottom of this—familiarity with quantum mechanics, solid state physics, cymatics, acoustics … a world-class code breaker …”
Claire felt the thrill of intellectual adventure begin to course through her, and it was only as this warm flood returned that she realized how truly empty she had felt. Then she came back to earth. “Dr. Keerbrock. I couldn’t even get a paper published establishing Bart as a new species. How on earth could we convince the journals to accept the idea that these animals were acoustic wizards?”
“Oh, you’re right, this can’t be published.” This last statement drew a sharp look from Katie.
Claire laughed bitterly. “So, you came all the way out here to tell me to come back so that I could fail again at getting anything related to Bart published?”
Keerbrock waved a mollifying hand. “One step at a time. I wanted to tell you about the jadeite, yes, but I also can say that you can now get your original letter published.”
Claire couldn’t suppress a surge of pure elation. “How? They wanted the bones.”
Keerbrock turned to Katie. “Why don’t you show her?”
Katie fiddled with her phone and then turned it so Claire could see the screen. On it was a picture of Sergei holding an ulna.
Seeing Sergei sent a different kind of pang through Claire. “How?”
“You know Sergei,” said Katie with a meaningful look, “he finds a way. Apparently, the civil war and the president being on the defensive left Tamerlan feeling exposed, and Sergei convinced him that Sergei would use his influence with the Russians to protect him should the little weasel find himself on the losing side. As insurance he brought Tegev, who said that if Tamerlan didn’t return the bone, he was dead to the family—a very big deal in Kazakhstan.”
“But it’s just one bone, and Nature wanted to see the array.”
“You can thank Rob for that part. The president won’t return the bones, but he will let qualified scientists examine them.”
“One more thing,” said Keerbrock. He leaned back and paused before speaking. “If you think it would help, I’d be honored to join the letter as corresponding author.”
Claire was overwhelmed. She waved one hand and covered her eyes with the other. “Give me a minute, please.” She got up. She took a few deep breaths and sat down again in the booth.
She looked at Keerbrock. “I’ve been trying to forget my failed career.”
Keerbrock interrupted her. “Your career was never a failure.”
“It was in every way that mattered to the people who put their trust in me.”
“All the better then,” said Keerbrock, and with characteristic insensitivity. “It will make vindication—redemption—that much sweeter.”
“And if I fail again?” asked Claire, having learned the bitter lesson that no matter how deep the abyss, there is always one deeper.
Keerbrock nodded, realizing the stakes for Claire. “Then science doesn’t deserve you.”
“Let me think for the evening. Where are you staying?” After they named a motel just off the interstate, Claire said she would either meet them at seven in the morning or disappear once again.
65
Katie rode with Claire on the way back (both she and Keerbrock had positively beamed when Claire showed up the next morning). Katie filled her in on the news. Gwynne, riding a wave of admiration for his monograph, had been named a fellow at All Souls College, Oxford. Samantha had become a very high-profile consultant on organizational ethics and morale and had made an appearance on CNBC.
Claire also learned that her disappearance had caused quite a stir. The blogosphere had turned sympathetic and assigned some of the blame to Constantine, who found himself on the defensive. He’d tried to reassure the other members of her team that he was just doing his job, but they were having none of it. Katie told her that the team had held together. While many had suspended work on the bones, none, not even Benoit, had given interviews to the press, with all of them saying that they could not comment prior to publication in a scientific journal. This, in turn, had led to a number of contacts from Nature and Science, asking for a timetable for resubmission.
Toward the end of the drive, Katie asked, “You don’t have to answer, but it wasn’t just the rejection by Nature that caused you to disappear, was it?”
Claire took a deep breath. She still didn’t know how things would turn out, but her depression had lifted. “No, it wasn’t rejection, it was shame. Hayden had put his trust in me, and his family had put their trust in me as guardian of his reputation and legacy.” She almost couldn’t get the words out. “And for all this trust and money, my response was to leave them exposed to ridicule.”
Katie looked at her with a dazzling smile. “That is going to change!”
JADEITE
66
Claire’s first call after Nature published the letter in late September was to Helen. “I have some happy news,” she said.
“I already saw the Times. Congratulations! You should feel very proud, and I’m sure Dad is clapping up in heaven. Thank you for honoring his memory.” Claire had insisted that the article mention Hayden’s funding.
With the perspective of vindication, Claire had realized that Constantine, while doing her no favors, had only been doing his job given the demonstrable facts he had to work with at the time. She also felt that, this time, he would be motivated to give her the benefit of the doubt. Anyway, the Times was still the Times. So she had offered him the same exclusive they had negotiated a year earlier.
Nature published on Thursdays, and that same day the Times ran a straight news story on the find. Then on the following Tuesday, a much longer article by Constantine appeared as the lead article in the weekly science section. This piece described the drama that surrounded the discovery and included extensive quotes from Claire and Keerbrock, as well as comments on its significance from a number of eminences in paleontology and mammalian evolution (notably absent were any quotes from Gwynne). Against the context of the ongoing chaos in Kazakhstan, Claire’s unconventional actions seemed justified. Nature had also produced a news article about the circumstances of the discovery, which noted that two Kazakh scientists—Karil and Tabiliev—shared the credit for the description of the discovery, and which also detailed the many unanswered questions entailed in the find that would be subject fo
r further exploration. At a press conference at Rushmere where journalists were permitted to photograph the ulna and cranium (but not the jadeite, which Claire had removed for the occasion), Keerbrock stressed that this first paper only scratched the surface of the significance of the bones. When pressed, however, he refused to speculate on what he expected further studies to uncover.
She expected the next call.
“This is Byron Gwynne.”
Claire knew what was coming.
Claire kept her voice neutral. “Hi, Byron.”
There was an awkward pause. Claire felt no need to help Gwynne out.
Gwynne cleared his throat. “I’m calling to say that some remarks I made at a conference were taken out of context, and I want you to know that the last thing I intended was to undermine your discovery.” He paused again. “And I want to apologize if some misinterpretation of my remarks caused you any hurt.”
Claire had to suppress a laugh, since the context was completely unambiguous. Clearly Byron had been waiting for an opportunity to undermine the legitimacy of the find, and the only possible misinterpretation would have been if the audience had somehow thought that Byron was endorsing the bones.
“Thanks, Byron, I appreciate that.”
She thought she heard a sigh of relief.
“I want you to know that I’ve called my publisher and insisted on rewriting the pertinent chapters. They’re screaming and it’s going to cost me a pretty penny, but I cannot put out a phylogeny of Elephantidae without fitting your extraordinary discovery into its rightful place. Anything new I should add?”
Claire now knew that Gwynne never did anything without calculation and guessed that his standing at All Souls was coming under review. Clearly, he wanted to come and see the bones for himself. She wasn’t going to help him out there.
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